I turned aside and homeward bent my way;
Alas! the face I loved so long—not there—
Sweet memories arose to gild my day,
But sadder ones to mock my heart’s despair.
Where is she now? you think the grave can hide
A friend so true within its dungeon deep?
Ah! no; she walketh ever by my side,
And watches o’er me when I chance to sleep.
We stroll abroad oft at the twilight’s hour
To memory’s garden. Under memory’s tree